Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

Releasing a pair of catches, the Armourer withdrew the staff from the jig, and held it out to Dalquist without looking at him. Grimm wondered if his brother Questor was about to cave in the sloppy artisan's skull, so dark was his expression, but Dalquist stayed his hand and his mouth.

Threll spun around to face Grimm, his right hand outstretched. "Are you waiting for a royal invitation or something, brother?"

Grimm moved closer to the ill-tempered mage. "I wish you had met our Magemaster Faffel, Threll," he said, smiling. "I'm sure he would have appreciated the way you go about your work."

Threll grunted. "What'd he teach? Spellcasting, was it?"

"Protocol, Decorum and Courtly Graces," Grimm replied with a pleasant smile. The implied rebuke seemed to wash over the Junior Armourer's head.

"Not surprised at that, Questor. I bet he'd have been impressed by a nice, efficient department like this. Stick, please?"

To Grimm's regret, not even the imbecilic Threll was stupid enough to try to take a mage's staff without permission. The resultant fulminating that this would have caused might have taught the unpleasant little man some manners…

Grimm handed over Redeemer with a resigned sigh, and Threll managed to complete the spell for the requisite number of repetitions. He miscast once, and clasped his hand to his brow in pain as Grimm fought to suppress a satisfied smile. This surly little man wouldn't have survived five minutes of Crohn's tutelage, he thought.

Even an Adept should have been able to recite such a simple spell at least a dozen times from memory, even without a scroll to aid him, and without a single error. The use of a scroll should have precluded any miscast.

"Thank you, Armourer Threll," Grimm said, as the surly mage handed Redeemer back to him. "I trust you will look me up, should you ever occasion to visit Arnor House." A few days in the House would do the unpleasant artisan some good, he thought.

"Not likely!" the Armourer snorted. "I'm perfectly happy here, thank you very much."

"I'm glad to hear it, Threll," Dalquist said. "It seems to me that you belong here." The Armourer nodded, perhaps harbouring the impression that he had just received a compliment.

"Gentlemen, perhaps we should be moving on now," Shael said, re-assuming his official role, "if we are to take in as much of the Lodge as possible in the short time available."

The three mages left Threll's gloomy little warehouse, with considerable relief on Grimm's part, and the Questor noticed that the hapless man had resumed formal Mage Speech. At least he seemed happier now.

"I suggest our next stop should be your Accommodation Block," the Assistant Sub-Vice-Facilitator-in-Chief suggested. "Do you have bags with you?"

"We left them in the waiting room where you first met us," Dalquist replied.

"In that case, I will give instructions for them to be taken to your rooms," Shael said. He took a small gem from a pocket and muttered into it for a few moments. "It is all taken care of: you will be residing in Rooms 1449 and 1450, Accommodation Block 15, while you are with us."

Dalquist laid an avuncular hand on Shael's shoulder.

"Facilitator Shael, we Questors are independent types," he said, with an ingratiating smile. "Perhaps you might appreciate a little time to yourself, while we plan our own itinerary. After your hard work on our behalf, this seems only fair."

The Facilitator looked uncertain. "That is a generous offer, Questor Dalquist. I have been working very hard for some time. Nonetheless, you will be unable to find your way around here without a constant guide, and I must take my responsibilities seriously. Each of your rooms bears an ivory cartouche; you only need but touch it, and I will be with you within minutes."

Dalquist's spoke in a sweet, almost seductive voice: "Your estimable Senior Doorkeeper mentioned that all the members of staff within High Lodge possess charms to guide you around this magnificent establishment. I feel sure a clever, resourceful fellow like you could lay his hands on a brace of these gems in a moment."

Despite the fact that he must be almost old enough to be Dalquist's grandfather, Shael seemed cowed by the tall Questor. "It is most irregular, Questor Dalquist," he said, with a nervous shake of his head.

"But not forbidden, Facilitator Shael? We feel so guilty at the idea of poaching upon your precious, hard-earned free time. An important mage such as your good self must be in demand all the time. I can tell how onerous your vocation must be; you look so pale and tired, Brother Mage. A short vacation would surely be just the thing to revitalise your zeal and efficiency."

The pathetic functionary hesitated, twitching his head while his eyes scanned the ceiling, but then he seemed to reach a firm decision. Fishing in his numerous pockets, which seemed to contain an unending supply of paper, keys, fluff and other detritus, he at last produced a handful of small charms, two of which he pressed upon Dalquist and Grimm.

"No, it is not forbidden, Questor Dalquist," he responded. "However, should the Senior Doorkeeper, or any other Lodge functionary, ask you of my whereabouts, I would request that you reply to the effect that I am answering a call of nature, or some such innocuous statement. I must, at all costs, maintain the appearance of preserving the formalities at all times."

"We would not dream of compromising your well-earned leisure," Dalquist assured him. "If you would just be so kind as to explain the working of these baubles, we will be on our way."

The operation of the gems seemed to be simplicity itself. The holder merely needed to speak the name of the location that he sought, such as 'Accommodation Block 15', and a magical green luminescence would appear along the shortest path he needed to take to reach his destination.

"Thank you, Facilitator Shael, your guidance has been much appreciated," the senior Questor said. "We will be sure to speak well of you, should anybody inquire of you."

Shael gave a thankful, relieved nod and rushed off down the corridor at a breakneck pace.

"Well, Grimm," Dalquist said, "shall we stay together, or would you rather explore on your own?"

"If you don't mind, Dalquist, I'd rather choose my own path," Grimm replied. "For most of the last ten years, I've been locked up within the bounds of Arnor House. It would be nice to wander around alone for a while, without purpose and without cares. I hope you're not offended by this."

Dalquist smiled. "Not in the least, my friend. Mages of our calling are almost expected to show an independent streak. We can compare notes later, perhaps during dinner. There is a splendid Refectory here, as I recall. What do you say to the idea of meeting back at the Refectory in four hours?"

"That sounds ideal, Dalquist. Four hours it is."

****

Grimm found it pleasant to wander about the Lodge without any firm destination or goal, but he had to admit that the endless series of identical passageways tempered any sense of real exploration.

"Entrance Hall," he instructed the magical gem, and a bright green strip appeared along a corridor to the right.

After five minutes of following the glowing arrow, he recognised the splendid staircase that led back to the hall. Within two minutes more, he had gained the archway that led back to what he now thought of as the 'real world'.

The confusion of the early afternoon had subsided to a low hubbub, and Grimm found that he was able to move freely among the petitioners and the reception desks.

"One rainstorm, localised, of three days' duration, good sir: two gold pieces. I wish your farm bounty and increase."

"A termination of pregnancy will cost you five silver pieces, Miss. Yes, Miss, I am aware who you are, but High Lodge cannot extend lines of credit, even to the illustrious."